Body Count (17 page)

Above him the wounded Russian had managed to get astride the ridge and was using both hands to pull his injured leg over.

I’ve got you!” Revell hurled himself the last few yards and was about to lunge at his target when the muzzle flash of a pistol dazzled him.

His night vision gone, Revell only heard, not saw, the second shot fired. It too missed at point-blank range, but he felt the heavy roar at along the side of his Kevlar helmet, almost ripping it away. Wildly he lashed out in a long slashing cut with the blade, and felt it connect.

It was only out of the corners of his vision that Revell could see. To look straight ahead was to experience again the searing light of the muzzle flash. Risking everything, he let go with his left hand of the projection he'd been clutching and grabbed blindly for his opponent.

His fingers brushed and then held tight a wad of material. The butt of a pistol came down hard, first on his helmet and then on his shoulder. Twice the blow was repeated, and he felt his arm going numb. In a last desperate attempt, he once more slashed upwards with the knife.

Again it connected, this time deeply penetrating flesh and muscle that he felt constrict and grip the blade. Wrenching it hard, at the same moment he felt another smashing blow.

Before any more could be landed and his collarbone broken, Revell threw all his weight against the knife. He could feel it grating along bone as it stripped cartilage away and severed arteries.

There was a metallic bump, and the pistol slid off the roof. Strong hands fastened on Revell's neck, and his head was forced back as they tightened their grip. Still he held the knife, driving it ever deeper into tissue.

The major's face was only inches from the Russian's, he could smell whiskey on his breath, but only see him in outline against the lighter western sky. With all his effort concentrated on it, the knife had now slit the Russian's leg open from mid- thigh to knee, but he showed no sign of weakening. If anything, the stranglehold was becoming tighter.

Only the corner of the flak jacket's collar caught beneath the throttling fingers prevented them cutting off his air completely. Even so, he could feel his head starting to swim, his senses to reel, and he knew he couldn't hold on much longer.

With all the effort he could muster, he pushed up hard with his feet. His left hand let go the hold on the Russian's clothing, and his fingers jabbed for the man's face. One found his eye, and there was a scream.

Thrashing about, the Russian overbalanced and as he toppled, he took Revell with him. They slid down the roof, locked together.

At the edge, Revell managed to grab hold of a stone statue. For an instant his adversary's webbing caught on the same projection, then slid free, and he was gone. As he consolidated his hold, Revell heard the ugly sound of a heavy landing far below.

Resting awhile before making the attempt, Revell hauled himself into the valley between the roof and the tower. He would not have been able to make the next move - raising himself at the full stretch of his arms into the window - if others had not gripped him and assisted.

“That the last of them, Major?” Dooley handed over his water bottle.

As Revell swigged deeply, feeling the tepid water sluice the dust from his lips and throat, he heard a furious outbreak of firing from the other side of the city centre.

“That was the last of that bunch. But it doesn't sound like the body count is complete yet.”

TWENTY-NINE
The number of civilians on the street was increasing. More and more were leaving the shelters in search of food or medical help. Others were trying to get back to their apartments or hotel rooms for a wash and a change of clothing, or to check that their property was not the booty of looters.

Armed civilian gangs were on the streets also. Most had only improvised weapons, but some had obtained guns or even crossbows from sporting goods stores.

The majority were on foot, but people who could get to their cars - and thieves who could get one started - were trying to leave the city.

Attempts were being made to get food and drink to those still in the shelters. Much of it was being “requisitioned” from food stores and restaurants. Sometimes the owners would appear and engage in vitriolic slanging matches with police organizing the depredations.

There were all the ingredients for a disaster, and on a local scale at least, it was beginning to happen. On Ludwigstrasse police trying unsuccessfully to control a mob fired shots in the air. A nearby Panzer grenadier section thought they were coming under fire and opened up. It took twenty minutes for the mistake to be recognized. By then there were thirty dead and twice as many wounded.

“The city is coming apart at the seams.” Mayor Gebert surveyed the bodies being dragged to the side of the road.

The police car he had been using to visit parts of the city cleared of the Spetsnaz forces sat quietly steaming on its flat front tires in a barber shop doorway. The stump of a crossbow bolt still projected from a sidewall.

Revell and his men had arrived too late to tackle the band of looters. They could only put a cordon about the area, until an ambulance arrived for the driver. Not that there was much chance of the criminals returning. The jewellery store they had been disturbed in the act of cleaning out had nothing but display pads remaining on show.

The steel grill formerly protecting the windows had been wrenched aside and the alarm clamoured shrilly, until Burke put several rounds into it. Even then it con- tinued to produce a subdued tinny rattle.

“I thought we were getting on top of the situation?” “We are, Major, but the cost is escalating too far, too fast.” There was still the sound of shooting coming from other quarters, but allowing for the fact that some of it would be between police and looters, the number of Spetsnaz engaged seemed smaller.

Listening intently, Revell decided that the nearest gun battle was several blocks away. “Do we know how many of them dropped into the city?”

“You don't seriously think the military are keeping me informed, do you?” Gebert was contemptuous. “One of my... one of Stadler's SWAT teams took a prisoner. He was removed by a GSG9 antiterrorist squad. I don't know what technique they used, but after they interrogated him, they declared that a hundred Spetsnaz had made the drop.”

Revell snorted his disbelief.
“I agree. I knocked the arrogance out of them by telling them that a police sweep of the park had revealed one-hundred-and-ninety-six canopies. The Reds hadn't bothered to try hiding them. Too keen to get on, I suppose.

“So, allowing for a handful to have gone astray, my first guess of about two hundred won't be far from the mark.” Revell felt pleased with himself.

“Yes, I mentioned your estimate. I am afraid that proving the elite units wrong may not have added to your popularity with them. Hence ...” Gebert swept his hand in a gesture that took in the deserted street and the disabled police vehicle.

“Do you know who, besides the SAS, is in on it now?”

Gebert looked to where his driver was .vainly trying to staunch the flow of blood from his bullet-pierced earlobe. “Not everyone. SAS are certainly in command, but they're too thin on the ground to hog the whole show to themselves, so they've grudgingly allowed two squads of GSG9, Stadler's SWAT teams, and a platoon of Bundeswehr Airborne Infantry to join in.”

“Generous of them. Are they getting results?” Revell saw the tracer of a cannon shell smack into the top storey of a tower block a kilometre off.

“That's another reason you're not popular. They're keeping a score board. Going solely on actual body count, your Special Combat Company is in the lead. The police would actually be at the top, but each of their kills is being chalked up as a separate engagement.”

“How accurate is the tally then?” Revell had a lot of experience of field commanders and higher ups, falsifying body counts. He'd known them not just be doubled, but increased as much as tenfold.

“That I have to give them.” Gebert moved on to the sidewalk as an army ambulance pulled up, accompanied by a pickup crammed with armed police. “They are only allowing verified kills. When I left, they were waiting for the fire brigade to get into a burning school before adding what they believe to be three more to the sheet.”

The urge to ask the total had to be fought down by Revell. Gebert was shrewd enough to know the question he wanted to pose.

“One-hundred-and-fifty-seven when I left twenty minutes ago. The cost is mounting enormously though. I do not mean that in a monetary sense.” Watching the driver being assisted to the rear of the Land Rover ambulance, Gebert dismissed he smashed front of the jewellers.

“As yet we do not have a figure for civilian casualties. It is likely though that it will rise into the hundreds, I think.”

Revell considered telling him about the shelter with its suffocated inmates, but decided against it. Soon enough he would learn the death toll was well into the thousands.

The ambulance departed with its overburdened escort vehicle. As it left a police crew bus arrived with a motorcycle escort.

“I suppose you'll be kicking your heels for a while.” Gebert went to board the vehicle. “Until they find some routine task for you.”

“I expect so.” Revell knew that to be more than likely. “In the minds of a lot of the military - even outfits like SAS and Delta Force - we're considered to be no better than a private army.”

“Then if I ever need one, I'D know where to come, will I not” Revell watched Gebert depart on the next stage of his inspection tour. He didn't envy the mayor. When all this was over, there were going to be a lot of people wise after the event. Mostly it would be those who were out of town, or who, now skulking in the recesses of a deep shelter, would appoint themselves as critical analysts of what had happened.

Heads would roll, both among the military and political circles, where blame could thought to be attached. Only the administrators would escape the condemnation that would follow the inquest likely to be conducted by the media. Snug in their town hall offices, exempt from military service, comfortable with the expectation of their indexed pensions, they would ride out the storm of criticism.

Checking in by radio, Revell was told only to stand by. For what, or when any task could be expected, he wasn't informed.

“Sgt. Hyde.” Well if they were going to be kept hanging about, there was no reason why they couldn't do it with a degree of comfort. “Find us a decent hotel. There's no point in us bumbling about when we're not wanted. We'll only get our heads shot off. Let's put our feet up for a while.”

“This lot gets too comfortable, Major, they'll probably fall asleep. It'll be a hell of job waking them.”

“That's a chance I'll take. Make it somewhere close at hand. Don't consult Ackerman though. My stomach is still rebelling over that food at the restaurant he found.”

Sitting on the hood of the abandoned police car, Revell took off his helmet and fingered the long crease in the layered material. The high velocity round had cut a neat furrow in it.

It wasn't the first time one had come that close. With luck, though it might be the last in Munich.

THIRTY
From the rooftop restaurant, Revell had a panoramic view of the city. Most of it was blacked out still, but here and there an imperfectly curtained window let slip a sliver of light.

And there were the fires. He counted at least eight. While most showed as no more than a glow over the rooftops, there was a large conflagration in the general direction of the fairground. If indeed it was some or all of the rides and sideshows that were going up, the mass of painted and varnished wood would make for a spectacular blaze.

Down in the streets there was more traffic than he might have expected. Fire engines, ambulances, and police cars made up a large part of it. There were military vehicles also. Mostly it was armoured cars, but he saw a couple of wheeled APC's and a single self-propelled gun.

That unwieldy monster was making slow progress, and was led and flanked by a large number of military police Hummers and motorcycles. Revell watched it until it was out of sight.

“If they try using that, the repair bill is going to be higher.” Andrea straddled a chair and began to pull the well-crisped skin off of a drumstick.

“The threat of its employment should be sufficient. I imagine it'll be used to winkle out the last stubborn few.”

They were alone. None of the others had bothered to take the lift to the top floor. In all the hotel they had encountered only two staff - a pair of hopelessly inebriated waiters - in the cocktail bar. With no doors locked the rest of the men had found all that they needed on the ground floor.

Revell remembered another time, when he had stood looking out over another city. That had been Hamburg, from the top of the television tower. Then his companion had been another beautiful woman, Inga.

Hamburg had been destroyed when the Zone had rolled forward to surround and engulf it. Inga had died with the city. He wondered if Andrea ever thought of Hamburg, as he so often did. It was she who had discovered that Inga was a Russian agent ... and killed her.

“What are you thinking?”

He'd never expected her to ask him that. His instinctive reaction was to think of something, anything, rather than what had been in his mind. Then he rejected that. “I was thinking of Hamburg ...”

“And the girl Inga?”
“Yes, I was. We stood and looked out at the city, just like this.” “You know I killed her.”

Andrea's tone was flat, emotionless. He wondered if she was trying to goad some reaction from him. If so, she would fail. The event was long in the past, the thought of it did not touch him anymore.

“Why do you think I killed her?”
Again a question he could not have anticipated. She was acting very differently tonight. Had she been drinking, before joining him up here? There was no way he could tell, unless he detected it on her breath. In the past though, alcohol had made her even more withdrawn than her usual taciturn self.

“You found out that she was an agent. I know that. With your hatred of all things communist, did you need any other reason?”